


Things Change

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little gift for merfilly, genfic season 3 G1: not my strong suit, but for her, I'll try! :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).



“Hey,” Springer flopped down on the bench across from Rodimus in the booth. It had taken him nearly a joor to track down his buddy. Which was always a sign. But they hadn’t been friends for so many vorns without Springer knowing how to play it. Which was cool. Play it cool. Sure, Rodimus Prime always slipped out during ceremony rehearsals to some distant spaceport bar, still only half repaired, and buried himself in the darkest shadowed booth. Sure. All the time.  
  
“Hey yourself,” Rodimus answered, flatly. His one hand idly swirled a mostly-empty cube.  
  
“I’d say ‘come here often’,” Springer said, feigning casual.  “but this place ain’t been open long enough for there to be an ‘often’.”  
  
“Also because you’re not trying to pick me up.” A flicker of a smile.  
  
“Yeah, well, I don’t have to ‘try’ to do that, do I?” Springer winked, rolling one shoulder back to lay his arm along the back of the bench.  
  
“Cocky.”  
  
“Been told I have a reason to be,” Springer said. He reached over for Rodimus’s cube, taking a swallow, before handing it back. “By a self-proclaimed expert, no less.”  
  
The smile flared like an ember catching oxygen, before fading. “Ultra Magnus sent you.” A question, on two levels.  
  
Springer shook his head. “Sent myself.”  
  
“Look. I’ll be there. I’ll get it right.” Under the helm, the brow furrowed in irritation.  
  
“I know you will.”  
  
“Then why--?”  
  
“Because maybe I don’t care even if you don’t? Maybe I care about, you know, you. How you’re doing.” For the first time, Springer looked uncomfortable. He never was good about this emotional stuff. He looked around, catching the optic of the bartender, signaling for another round.  
  
“I’m the Prime,” Rodimus said, and the attitude he tried to put into it crackled and shattered like spun sugar.  
  
“You’re Hot Rod to me. Always will be.”  
  
“I wish.”  
  
Springer could see the longing in the blue optics, and the weight of the title, the Matrix, heavy on Rodimus’s shoulders. “Don’t wish. Be. Wishing’s for old mechs who have hung it all up.”  
  
“I have to, Springer. I have responsibilities!” He nearly hissed the word, only sitting back as the bartender brought another round. A round he hadn’t asked for, but that he accepted, handing over his old, empty cube for the new one. If nothing else he could let Springer buy him a drink. It bought time before he had to go back.  
  
“And one of those is to yourself, Rod.” Springer raised his cube in a toast that hung, unmet, for a long moment.  
  
“Things change,” Rodimus said, frowning into his cube. “Entropy. All that.”  
  
“Eh, stop listening to Perceptor,” Springer said, recovering, drawing his hand back, and taking a deep swallow from his cube. “No one wants a leader to give up everything he is. No Autobot, at any rate. And if they do, well…they’re not really Autobots. Freedom is the right of everyone. Including Primes.”  
  
A long silence, awkward and strained.  
  
“Look,” Springer said. “I’m trying, okay? I’m not good at all that speechy stuff.”  
  
Despite himself, Rodimus felt a grin spread over his face, a sort of warmth breaking over his spark.  
  
“Just saying, you know, things change, sure. But some things don’t. Like your friends.” Springer caught his gaze, then looked away, suddenly awkward.  
  
Rodimus put down his cube, reaching over the table to close over Springer’s hand, large and powerful and sure. “You’re right,” he said. “The best things don’t change.”


End file.
